A Year Without Summer
by horcruxnumber8
Summary: Sometimes he wondered what his life could have been like, if things had turned out differently. D/Hr, EWE.


**A/N: **Since I've been taking so much longer than expected to get "Forgive and Forget" updated, I thought I would post a couple of one-shots that I wrote for exchanges over the summer/fall. Consider it my way of apologizing for the delay. The next chapter of F&F is in the works, but I'm having a harder time than I expected getting back into the flow of writing it after my hiatus. I promise that it's not abandoned and will be updated as soon as I'm able. In the meantime, here's a little fic I wrote for a Draco's Birthday challenge on LJ back in June.

**Warning and disclaimer:** Just some mild sensuality. As always, the Harry Potter universe belongs to JKR and I'm making no money from this story!

* * *

**A Year Without Summer**

"_A life without love is like a year without summer." ~ Swedish Proverb_

* * *

Sometimes he wondered what his life could have been like, if things had turned out differently.

Certainly, no one could accuse him of being a sentimental man. However, as always happened at this time of year, he found himself looking back on the preceding years, and the long, winding road that had brought him to this point.

Sometimes Draco wondered how different things could have been, if his parents hadn't brainwashed him with their narrow-minded, pureblood beliefs. He wondered if his childhood would have been different, and if he would have had friends that he actually respected, and who genuinely cared about him. Perhaps he would never have become the arch enemy of Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world.

He wondered what could have happened if his family had not sided with Voldemort, and if he had not been forced to tremble at the Dark Lord's feet, shortly after his sixteenth birthday, receiving his first assignment as a Death Eater. Perhaps, like every other student at Hogwarts, he would have spent his Sixth Year hiding in broom closets to snog some pretty little witch that he couldn't keep his hands off of, rather than struggling to keep his family from destruction.

How would things have been different, if he had never called her "Mudblood"?

* * *

But most often, Draco thought about how different his life would have been if he had never run into her again, one year after the war was over, while both of them were browsing the bookshelves of Flourish and Blotts.

"Well well well. If it isn't Hermione Granger, the great war hero. Forgive me if I fail to grovel at your feet."

"I see you haven't changed at all," she had said, scowling.

"Some things never change. For example, you'll always be a bushy-haired, buck-toothed, bossy little know-it-all."

"And _you_ will never grow up, will you Malfoy?"

"Speaking of growing up…" Draco drawled, gracing her with one of his trademark sneers. "I hear Weasley's crawled back to that busty little bint, Lavender Brown. I suppose your..._charms_ weren't enough to keep him around?"

With these words, Draco had let his gaze linger pointedly on her chest. Hermione's eyes had flashed at him then, as she thrust her chin out in disdain.

"You're nothing but a slimy, two-faced ferret, Draco Malfoy, and that's all you'll ever be," she muttered, every word she spoke dripping with venom. "Besides, I'm not the only one spending my Saturday night alone in a bookstore."

She had sauntered away, and Draco had been dismayed to realise that tormenting Hermione Granger had lost its appeal, beyond the fact that the witch looked incredibly sexy when she was pissed off.

* * *

Looking back, Draco often thought about the strange turn his life had taken then, when he seemed to run into her everywhere he went, at all the Ministry functions, and every other social event in the months that followed. Worse still, he had found himself admiring how she carried herself in her dress robes, and how delectable her neck looked when she pinned her curls up on top of her head, letting a few tendrils spill loose to frame her face.

"If you're going to ogle my chest, Malfoy, you might try being a bit less obvious about it. Aren't you Slytherins supposed to be known for your subtlety?'

Draco had grinned shamelessly at her then, undaunted by the fact that she had spied him eyeing the low neckline of her robes.

"Granger, if you wear a naughty getup like that, you're just begging to be ogled. I thought you were supposed to be a good little Gryffindor?"

"It's not about being _good_," Hermione had said, arching one delicate eyebrow at him. "It's about not getting caught."

That had been the first night that he dreamt about Hermione in her dress robes…and himself, ripping them off of her body.

* * *

However, Draco often wondered about what would have happened if they both hadn't been so lonely at the two-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts; if the Great Hall hadn't been full of people still mourning the deaths of their loved ones, and Hermione had not stood alone while Ginny Weasley clung to Harry Potter, and Lavender Brown was comforted by Ron.

How did it happen, that he wandered away from the somber ceremony and found her hiding behind a tapestry, crying?

How would things have been different, if he hadn't abandoned his ingrained beliefs, and his sanity, long enough to pull her into his arms and give her the comfort that no one else had been able to provide?

"Damn it, Granger, you left your snot all over the front of my best dress shirt."

"Some things never change," she had muttered, rolling her eyes as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"And some things do," he murmured, bending down to capture her tear-dampened lips with his.

* * *

Draco remembered how he had spent the following weeks using every ploy he knew to seduce Hermione, to get closer to her so that he could memorise the breathy little sounds she made when her mouth was pressed against his. He remembered how months later, he had pulled her down on top of his bed and made love to her until they both cried out from the sheer force of their pleasure, and he woke up with her fragrant curls sprawled across his face.

* * *

How would things have been different if, when she whispered "I love you", he had found the courage to say it back?

"I just can't do this anymore, Draco," Hermione had said, her eyes brimming with tears. "I can't pretend not to be hurt each time I say I love you, and you don't say anything in return. I know how hard it's been for you to change, but we've been together for over a year. I can't waste my life waiting for you to let me in."

He wondered if he would ever be the same person again, after he had stood speechless, watching her walk out his front door, and out of his life.

* * *

Every year, on this day, he looked back and wondered about what could have been. However, this year, he had found himself in a gloomy mood as he gazed at the calendar on his office wall and recognised the date. He did the math in his head and scowled.

Thirty years old today. And he hadn't received a single birthday card.

Draco sighed, closing the ledger that rested on his mahogany desk. It was time to go home. Even if no one felt the urge to send their salutations, or celebrate with him, he supposed he could find some brandy in his study to toast another year of his life.

Merlin he was pathetic.

He Apparated to the front door of his flat, and was surprised to find the place dark and quiet when he entered.

"Hello?" he called out, nervously clutching his wand in his hand.

"SURPRISE!" yelled a cacophony of voices.

The lights to Draco's flat sprang to life, revealing a slew of streamers and decorations hanging down from the ceiling, and his friends and family all waiting for him beneath them. A small girl came hurtling over to him, her wild blond curls bouncing as she flung herself into his arms.

"Daddy, daddy!" the girl squealed. "Were you surprised?"

"Yes, very," he said, hoisting his daughter onto his hip and smiling down at her.

Draco looked up and saw his wife walking towards him, bearing a cake with thirty candles, the light from their tiny flames flickering across her face.

* * *

How would things have been different, if he hadn't shown up on her doorstep nine years ago, miserable and lonely and missing her more than he could have thought possible?

"Hermione, I've been such an idiot. I love you, and I want to let you into my life, and I don't ever want to let you walk out of it again."

"All right," she had said, cupping his face in her hands. "Though I can't believe I'm promising to spend the rest of my life with a Malfoy. I guess some things really do change."

"And some things never will," he whispered, and then kissed her as he had never kissed her before.

* * *

As Draco held his daughter in his arms and watched his wife approach with her brown eyes full of love for him, he thought about how different - how incomplete - his life would be, if she had never been a part of it.

Hermione smiled at him, holding up his cake so that he could blow out the candles, and said, "Happy Birthday, Draco."

And he knew then, that no matter how many times he looked back on his life, he wouldn't change a single thing about it.

~*~*~


End file.
